Адриан Голдсуорти - The Encircling Sea

‘Centurion.’ She nodded, her tone formal.

Ferox closed the door shut behind him, and hoped the gesture did not appear presumptive.

She gave him a thin smile. ‘You must be exhausted.’

‘It has been a long day,’ he conceded. ‘But I see and hear that you have been pretty busy.’

‘No doubt from Ovidius. He is a fussy little man, but I do like him. He means well and tries so hard. However, it is just as well that that poor animal was dead before he did what he did to it.’

‘Butchery is a difficult skill, they say. Yet it appears not beyond the capacity of a senator’s daughter.’

She made a face. ‘I told you long ago that noblemen raise their daughters to run a household. After all, that’s easier than running it themselves. So we have to know about everything or we will be cheated by our own slaves.’ The lady went back to her work and started to hum a song as old as the hills, sung by the tribes of Britannia and Gaul alike. It was a tune and verses that told of the meeting of a hero and the woman who would become his bride. Vindex loved it, and had kept whistling and humming it when Ferox had first met Sulpicia Lepidina and the Brigantian had sensed his attraction. ‘I see a sweet country, I’ll rest my weapon there.’ Ferox thought of their first encounters, and the sudden passion of last night.

‘How well off are we for food?’

‘Ah, all business, I see.’ She put down the slice of meat and straightened up, mimicking a soldier at attention. ‘Yes, sir, certainly sir. We have a good store. This bacon will last, and we have enough fresh to feed us tomorrow without having to slaughter any more of the animals. There were three round loaves when we got here, and grain to bake more or make gruel. It’s barley—’ she grimaced at the mention of food for slaves and the poor ‘—and will have to do for the animals as well, as long as we keep them. There is milk from the cow, beer and good water. No wine, I am sorry to say.’ She raised her arm in salute. ‘Is that to the centurion’s satisfaction?’

‘How long will it last, soldier?’

‘Yes, sir, certainly, sir, beg to report sir.’ She lowered her arm. ‘If you had asked this morning I would have said ten days at best. After today, the mouths that are left can eat well for at least that long, and survive for another four or five days after.’

‘Yes,’ he said. ‘After today.’

‘He looks a lot like you,’ she said, and her smile was gentle now, without any mockery. ‘Little Marcus. It’s not just the mop of dark hair, but his expression. He can be very serious.’ She gave an exaggerated frown and stuck out her lower lip.

Ferox did not know much about babies, and had always assumed that one looked much like another.

‘I thought he looked like you,’ he said, sensing that it was the right thing to say.

‘He has my laugh, poor thing.’

They smiled at each other awkwardly.

‘You must be exhausted, my lady. You should get some rest.’

‘I am not so very tired.’ Sulpicia Lepidina washed her hands in a bowl of water and wiped them dry. She glanced down at the floor, where she had been chained for days. Now there was fresh straw, a sack for a pillow, and some blankets. ‘A little bit more comfortable than bare stone,’ she said, and reached up to the pins in her hair.

‘Let me,’ he said, stepping over to her. He fumbled with his fingers, but eventually the long golden hair fell loose around her shoulders. It was as if she changed, standing differently, no longer the formal aristocrat and just the woman. The same treacherous thoughts came into his mind, telling him that there was no reason why she should bother with him unless she wanted him for some dark purpose, and he pushed them away as he pulled her close. Her hair was soft, her skin softer still and her lips were sweeter than any sweet country. His fingers came to life and unclipped the simple brooch from one shoulder, letting the dress flap open on that side. He kissed her shoulder and her neck.

‘I love you,’ he murmured, because he could not stop himself from speaking, and his hand undid the brooch on her other shoulder.

Sulpicia Lepidina pushed him away, and he feared that he had said too much, but she smiled as the top of the dress fell down to her waist. She wore a breast band of cloth that must once have been a brilliant white, although it was now stained by the rigours of the last weeks. Her hands went to the rope belt, undoing it, so that with a slight twitch the dress dropped to the floor. Apart from a triangle of white cloth in front and behind she was bare down to her sandals.

‘We are at the end of the world,’ she said, and he wondered whether she had decided that there was no hope of rescue and it did not matter what they did for no one would ever know. The lady bent her arms back to reach the knot on her band. Then she stopped. ‘No. Your turn.’ She always made him feel like a centaur or satyr, ungainly, lustful and crude in the presence of a nymph or goddess. He obeyed.

Later they lay beside each other and sleep did not come to him. He knew that he was weary, but wanted to save every moment of this in his memory so that it might stay fresh for the rest of his life, however long that proved to be. They did not speak, but she rested her head on his chest, and although he could not see her face he knew that she was awake.

Then the shouting started.

BY THE TIME Ferox had dragged on his trousers and drawn his sword, others were calling out and stumbling awake. Probus appeared at the top of the ladder, naked and paunchy, and asking what was going on. Ovidius appeared behind him. Ferox ignored them and ran to the tunnel. At the far end, Falx was on his knees, gasping for breath, and a pirate with a blackened face was standing over him. The man lifted his sword, but it struck the stone ceiling, giving off bright sparks. There was a scream of pain from outside, and then Brigita bounded in and sliced into the pirate’s arm. He squealed, dropping his sword, and the queen hacked at his neck, half severing it. The pirate slumped forward against the big gladiator, their blood mingling.

When Ferox reached them the warrior woman was breathing hard. She looked at him, then kicked the dying pirate over. Vindex appeared at the door, asking what was going on. There were five dead or dying pirates around the little wall outside the entrance.

‘He got three,’ the queen said, ‘even after they stabbed him.’ She was trying to staunch a big wound to Falx’s stomach. Longinus called to Vindex to come back to the barricade, and Ferox went with him, but it seemed that the attack was over. Five pirates with their bodies painted black had floated across the lake on logs, paddling from behind the tower, so that they could come at the entrance from either side. No warning had come from the top of the tower, but by chance the gladiator had gone outside. ‘He was pissing,’ the queen explained, ‘and saw two of them, but then they were on him. He knocked one down, got the other around the neck and snapped it, and was drawing his sword when the other three came from behind.’ The queen stopped, her eyes empty like so many men after a fight, and Ferox knew that she could not remember all the details of what had happened.

It was easy enough to guess. Falx took a cut to the shoulder that did not break through his armour, then turned and got the thrust into his belly, which punched through the iron rings and padded jerkin underneath. The man who did it died a moment later, his throat opened to the bone. One of his companions sliced into the gladiator’s left hand, cutting between the fingers, but the big man held the sword tight and stabbed the man in the face. Brigita killed the one he had knocked down, and came back just in time to save the big man as he slumped down.